


Bits & Pieces

by MotleyMoose



Series: Homecoming [3]
Category: Star Wars, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst adjacent, Gen, Grappling, Injury, Pinches of fluff here and there, So much rage, Star Wars Universe, angsty, because they are PISSED OFF, bringing the fight to mando, fight, hurt and discomfort, just for something a little bit different, mando better watch himself, the kid makes his first appearance!!!, they are so emotionally charged, they both say some hurtful things, they're too alike for their own good, why can't they be NICE for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:48:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotleyMoose/pseuds/MotleyMoose
Summary: I AM ALL SORTS OF ANGRY AT THAT FRAGGING BUCKETHEAD!!! He's leaving me with more questions than I have the ability to ask, and I don't like it one bit.But dang, that little greenie iscute!
Series: Homecoming [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1846768
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	1. Ashes in a Vacuum

**Author's Note:**

> Heya! Thank y'all for reading!!!
> 
> I'm not sure how many chapters this part is gonna have, so???
> 
> We're coming up on the halfway point of the story. Maybe my editing skills will improve by then (ha).

The way everything hurt, I was sure I was dying.

Squinting at the dim, fuzzy gray light of my bunk, I ran an internal diagnostics check. With every little wiggle and flex of an appendage, I gradually realized that I was not, in fact, dying, but I wasn’t in prime fighting shape either. Slowly, gingerly, I scrubbed sleep from my burning eyes with the heels of my palms, my vision spotty and fuzzy in places. It felt good to let them linger, pressing heavily into the closed eyelids and relieving the pressure built up behind my eyeballs. As killer headaches went, the one I was experiencing in that moment wasn’t the worst I’d ever had, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like doshing kung.

Now that I was sorta awake, I took physical stock of my body. My eyes still wouldn’t clear, the large flecks of gray shadow swimming lazily in my periphery, so I used touch to see what was going on. Letting my hands do the work, I started with my head, running my fingers lightly down my neck to my shoulders and chest. Something felt off about the shape of my body as I continued to scan downwards to my hips. Foggy memories swirled inside my head, screaming and pain and choking smoke. A jumbled mess of noise and smells overpowered everything else, and the bits and pieces of the fight and flight from Bosph scattered nervously into the darker recesses of my brain.

Frustrated, I sat up, ignoring the sharp tug at the pit of my elbow and the violent, painful thumping rattling my brain. “Fragging buckethead,” I hissed through clenched teeth. _He_ had got me in this mess. Sure, it was my fault for getting a bounty put on me, but if only he’d listened to me in the first place, we coulda avoided Bosph entirely. The anger, bitter and sparkling and pulsing red, numbed the headache and the bruises slightly. And as the ire rose, so too did the functionality of my brain.

I could focus now on what my hands had been trying to tell me: all of my possessions, from my boots to my jumpsuit and everything in between or tucked into pockets, was gone. A worn coarseweave tunic hung from my curved shoulders, the sleeves neatly rolled up around my biceps, and a newer looking pair of long johns, the baggy legs bunched around my knees, had replaced my utilitarian and well-loved apparel.

_Oh Mother of Kwath!_ Had the Mandalorian undressed me?! I mean, I was an adult. He was an adult. And apparently I had been injured enough to warrant such an invasion of privacy. Still, I couldn’t fight the blush burning brightly across my chest and face.

So doshing uncomfortable.

Nope, nope, _nope_. Didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Pushing down all of the humiliation and trauma and apprehension until the feelings were little more than an annoying itch under my skin, I allowed the rage to take over a little more. It was easier to be angry than to feel anything else, the outrage a warming presence in my chilly body. It also gave me the little boost of courage for what I had to do next.

Screwing my eyes shut, incredibly unprepared for the worst possible outcome, I touched the place under my collarbone where my silver skull pendant rested, a solid, reassuring weight...

_Nothing._

Instead of skin-warmed metal, I was met with warm, padded resistance. Peering into the neck of the tunic, I found a thick, dull-colored wrap encasing my midsection from under my armpits to my hip bones. It smelled of the sea on a warm summer’s day, and I wrinkled my nose automatically. _Bacta_. Whatever injury I had sustained must’ve been bad enough to call for the precious, oftentimes expensive goo. The wrap wasn’t so tight as to constrict breathing or some movements, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either.

The physical uncomfortableness brought me back to the question of _why_ the bounty hunter was keeping me alive, but just like all the other feelings, I ignored it. I needed to find my clothes, my necklace. Get dressed. Leave this beautiful ship and her tyrant pilot behind and become a krill farmer out on the Outer Rim.

Well, probably not a farmer. A droid mech, perhaps.

The soft skin on the inside of my elbow twinged again, pulling me out of my daydreams as I reached for the blanket covering the lower half of my body. A thin, clear tube snaked from a needle inserted into a vein to a nearly-empty pouch hanging from a hook in the bunk wall. Fumbling, my fingernails worked their way underneath the sticky medical tape, peeling up an edge wide enough to pinch. I ripped the tape from my arm, gritting as it pulled hair and skin with it. Once the tape was gone, I slid the needle out of my arm with a hiss, tossing it aside to leak between the cot and the bunk wall. Whatever cocktail of drugs the bounty hunter had mixed into the IV, he’d probably added a good dose of sedative to keep me down for the count. That would’ve explained the fogginess.

And it made me so _mad_.

I let the full-blown, all-consuming fury in, jerking the coarseweave blanket off of me and freeing my legs. Exhaling forcefully, I tested my injured knee, poking at the matching bacta bandage. The original searing-white agony I had experienced on Bosph was muted now, less of a screaming torment and more of a dull throbbing. Healed enough to put weight on. Hopefully

Groaning and cursing at stiff muscles and bucketheaded hunters respectively, I wriggled on the bed until my bare feet skimmed the floor. The cold steel of the hull platform sent shivers through my flesh, feeding the annoyance and anger and frustration. I inhaled, steadying myself for the shooting pain sure to follow standing on both legs. Pleasantly astonished as I was that it didn’t hurt too horribly, I wasn’t prepared for the lightheadedness. The blood rushed from my face, my vision blackening around the edges.

“Oh frag,” I managed to croak before slumping to the floor in an unconscious heap.  
\---------------  
I awoke, some time later, inside my bunk. The coarseweave blanket was tucked firmly beneath my chin, the IV reinserted into my arm, and my red-hot rage completely dissipated. An imposing, blurry figure stood at the foot of the bunk, and I took my time adjusting myself from lying flat to reclining, eyes tightly shut to avoid the spinning shadows. Once I was comfortable, I cracked an eyelid. The Mandalorian’s blurred steely stare greeted me, a clear bag of liquid over one arm and a sling supporting the other.

“You’re awake,” he stated matter of factly.

“D-Didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of travelling in silence,” I replied dryly, voice husky with disuse. “By the way, where’s my jumpsuit?” I opened my eyes all the way, blinking rapidly to dispel the fog coating them. It didn’t work.

The bounty hunter harrumphed softly. “Incinerated. You had a fractured knee, two broken ribs and a blaster wound to the stomach. Plus severe retinal damage and dehydration. You’re lucky you even made it off-planet.” He angled his visor away from me to tap out something on his vembrace.

“Wait, what?”

He tilted his visor towards me and put it simply. “You almost died.”

I feebly waved the non-IVed hand in front of my face. “No, not that. Did you say you incinerated _all of my stuff?!_ ”

Ignoring me, per his style, he continued to tap on his vembrace’s control panel.

Devastated, depressed and not a little bit murderous, I glowered squintily at him. I was reeling inwardly, but on the outside I was colder than carbonite.

As he ignored me, I studied him as closely as my recovering vision would allow. I could tell there was something different in his appearance, but it took a moment for me to recognize what it was . A softer quality to his edges that I couldn’t quite understand, his body looking less defined, less bulky than normal. I blinked several times to refocus, and was rewarded with infinitesimally better vision.

“Where’s your armor, _shabuir_?” I sniped. I may have been more than a little miffed that all of my worldly possessions were now ash and lumps of twisted metal, and biting at a Mandalorian was a temporarily soothing balm to my aching heart.

The hunter reached over me and unhooked the empty bacta IV bag from a rod above my head, replacing it with the one he’d brought. Adjusting the solution valve, he tapped the drip chamber twice before turning his attention back to me. “There’s a spare jumpsuit in the ‘fresher. Keep the bacta wrap on for another hour, _at least_.” As an afterthought, he added, “We’ll be on Nevarro in a few days.” A frown tainted his voice. “Stay out of my way ‘til then.” Spinning on his heel, he marched to the ladder and disappeared onto the upper deck.

………

It took about twelve hours for me to feel well enough to rid myself of the IV and bacta wraps and get out of the bunk without having the ship buck underneath me like a wild bluurg. I took that time to cry myself to sleep, wake up and cry some more. The loss of my tools and kit was a huge blow to my self-worth, but the loss of the pendant, well. It was the only piece I had left of a life full of fear and hunger and _love_ ; it connected me to home. If I didn’t have that, where did I belong?

It took another three hours for me to get up the nerve to get cleaned and dressed. I prowled around the cargo hold, poking and prodding at the carbonite storage, the control panels and the refresher. There hadn’t been much of a chance on my earlier voyages to explore, so with the Mandalorian occupied guiding the ship through hyperspace, I felt emboldened to figure out more about him. Not that there was much to glean from my investigation; the hold contained only the basics of survival for deep space travel, and weapons. Lots of weapons.

Oh, and several beings in what looked to be forced-stasis, frozen in carbonite.

Shivering in sympathy for my hold companions, I turned and shuffled back to the bunk. What I _really_ had hoped to find was the incinerator - most ships kept them below near the back for easy dispatch of trash - but I hadn’t found hide nor hair of one below deck. It could’ve been located above. Not exactly the safest or most pleasant location, yet with all the fire power and carbonite in the hold, it kinda made sense. No need to put _three_ dangerous elements all in one place, if you had the room.

A little voice at the back of my head reminded me of something else: that fragging Mando had all but _ordered_ me to stay put. If he thought for one second that I was going to listen to him, he had another thing coming. I held no ill-will against Mandalorians in general, but this one was getting on my bad side. First arresting me and then almost getting me killed _and then_ destroying the only thing I had left of home reminded me that I only had myself to rely on, that everyone else was out to either disappoint me or kill me.

I’d be _doshed_ if I was going to let that buckethead dictate what I could and couldn’t do, especially since he was the one who took me off that Maker-forsaken moon in the first place.

_Especially_ since he handed me over to Mihcas without an apology.

And took my pendant _and_ tools to boot.

Ascending the ladder turned out to be a formidable feat in my weakened condition, but I prevailed. It took more effort than it should have, and I collapsed onto the cool steel platform once I made it all the way up.

“What are you doing?” The modulated baritone came from my right. Swiveling my head, I watched as the bounty hunter stomped out of the captain’s quarters, a bundle of clothes clutched to his chest and fingers unsurprisingly reaching for his blaster. Whatever was in the bundle must have been precious, for he shifted it away from me to his injured arm. It obviously still hurt; he held the bundle in the crook of his elbow, awkwardly bent and trembling with effort.

_Good._

Rage flared in my chest, licking its way up like flames and leaving a red mask pounding behind my eyes. Pushing the anger away, I clambered up to my feet. I was going to get answers, and I’d be fragged if I was going to show emotion in front of him.

“Where’s the incinerator?” I spat savagely. So much for not showing any emotion.

Obviously taken aback by my vehemence and bluntness, he cocked his helmet and pulled his hand from his blaster, resting it casually on his belt buckle. “Why?”

Simple enough question, simple enough answer. But I didn’t _feel_ like answering him. Opening my mouth to respond, a cooing sound interrupted me. It sounded like it was coming from the bundle still shielded in his injured arm.

Snapping my jaw shut with a painfully audible _click_ , I raised my eyebrows pointedly at him. “Trafficking something illegal there, _chakaar_?” Anxiety clenched my stomach in its viselike grip, and I had to force the bile from rising in my throat. I was still weak from Bosph, but if he was buying and selling living beings to make a living, he was no better than my ex-boss. No better than me. Which meant I was going to have to hurt him or die trying.

A sharp hiss of an inhale through the vocoder told me I’d hit on something. Something he didn’t want me knowing. A whispery stream of very impolite Mando’a floated in the space between us. The air was thick with tension, and both of us were patiently waiting for the other to make the next move.

The coo came again, slightly muffled, followed by a bubbly giggle, startling us out of our stare-down. The bundle wriggled, and the Mandalorian shifted his attention from me to it as the thing became too much to handle with one injured arm. Grunting either out of pain or frustration, the bounty hunter stepped backwards until he was in the doorway of the bunk. Squeaking and chittering indignantly, the lump in the clothes broke free with a victorious huff.

And it was the cutest fragging thing I’d ever laid my eyes on.


	2. Niceties in Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panicking is not the best thing to do in these circumstances. But you know what? I'm going to do it anyway, any chance I get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for continuing to read this fear-fueled panic-fest!
> 
> Be prepared, all you polyglots out there - some of the Mando'a I made up using a combination of mandoa dot com and lingojam. It isn't perfect, and it probably makes zero sense. But until google translate has a Mando'a option, you're just gonna have to deal with the nonsense (unless, of course, you absolutely know your way around the language. I am all ears for some tips)

Big green ears greeted me with a friendly waggle as the tiny, wide-eyed creature clawed its way out of the Mandalorian’s grasp and half-fell half-climbed down the beskar armor to the floor. It peered calmly up at the dumbfounded Mandalorian, meeping softly. At once, all of the resentment I had been holding dissipated. I had never seen anything like it, yet I wanted to safeguard it from everything else in the galaxy.

Perplexed at the sudden emotional assault, I took a careful step back. Maybe it was a creature that could influence my thoughts towards it? I didn’t know what those types of animals looked like, but I had heard stories. Stories that never turned out well for the beings duped into protecting the creature.

“Wh-what is that thing?” I asked, unease edging into my voice.

Looking over to me, the bounty hunter inclined his head in bewilderment. “He is a foundling.” The visor dropped my gaze, focusing on the thing at his feet. “He wants to - meet you.” And then, to the thing, quietly murmured, “You sure about this, kid?”

Huffing in answer, the critter - no, child? - waddled briskly up to me, stopping just short of my boots. He leaned back as far as he could, contemplating me with his immensely warm obsidian eyes. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I finally broke.

“Uh, what now?”

The child looked back to the bounty hunter one more time. The Mandalorian sighed in defeat. “He wants you to pick him up.”

I nodded nervously. _Of course,_ that made total sense. The kid was short. If he wanted to meet me, he needed to see me face to face. Didn’t mean I was comfortable with the idea, seeing as he might be able to mind-control me. Anxiety began to eat away at my insides. I didn’t want to become some mindless, slobbering zombie to something as cute and puntable as the little green child in front of me. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I haltingly took another step back. The kid followed, gaze intent.

Frag, frag, _frag_ , it would’ve been better if he’d just get the mind controlling over with instead of waiting for me to do something erratic and stupid. It was as if he wasn’t -

_Oh for Force’s sake!_ Barely able to contain my utter disbelief in myself, I facepalmed and groaned quietly. I still had all my normal paranoia. Logically, that proved the kid _wasn’t_ trying to control. If he were anything like the stories, both the bounty hunter and I would’ve been dog food long before now.

“... you okay?” the bounty hunter grunted.

My head shot up at the noise. _You’ve got to be doshing kidding me._ In the onset of my panic, I’d completely neglected the fact that the Mandalorian was there.

“Yeah, I’m fine. So fine,” I muttered, embarrassed.

Right.

Mind made up, I lowered myself to sit cross-legged in front of the child. Now that I was at the little one’s level, I held out a hand, palm up, and smiled weakly. “ _Su’cuy, ad’ika_ ,” I greeted him. The child’s eyes widened in wonder, and he grabbed a finger in each of his small fists, cooing animatedly back.

Glimpsing out of my periphery, the Mandalorian had moved closer, standing within arms-reach of the little one. His breastplate visibly moved with each breath, and I got the feeling he was _very_ uncomfortable with the interaction.

The child, giggling at nothing in particular, dropped my fingers in favor of my knee. He clumsily grasped the wrinkles in my borrowed jumpsuit, pulling himself to stand on my thighs. Flat little feet, three-toed to match his three-fingered hands, curled into the fabric. The warmth of his little body was comforting in a way that I couldn’t recognize, and I had the sudden and all-encompassing urge to protect him with my life.

Chubby hands made quick work exploring my mostly-empty jumpsuit, only finding a clean rag and a half-consumed rations packet in one of the chest pockets. Disappointed in his discoveries, the little one tugged at the front of my tunic and with alarming dexterity, shimmied his way up to my right shoulder. He perched there, one foot in my face and the other kicking at my shoulder blade, happier than a mudhorn in the rain and giggling trilly.

“You little scamp,” I laughed, tickling the toes in front of me. The child tittered, wiggling away from me. He managed to swing his leg over my shoulder, clinging tightly to my back.

Chuckling, I reached behind me to find his little feet again. “Think you can hide from me back there?” I was met with a shrieking laugh when my fingers grazed the kid’s stubby legs.

“He likes you.” Startled, I released the child and halfway rose. I had all but forgotten about the bounty hunter, and his modulated voice was jarring after all the happy sounds that came from the little one.

“I bet you say that to all the bounties,” I replied dryly, the bite in my voice softer than what it had been before. Did I have to like the Mandalorian? No, a big ol’ negative no matter how many surprisingly nice things he happened to do.

But the child, well. I could rein in my attitude for a little while, just for his sake.

Shaking his head once more, the baffled Mandalorian stepped around me and the child and slipped silently into the cockpit.

“Is he always so chatty?” I asked the little one, gently scooping him into my arms and returning him to his original spot on my right shoulder as I stood up to follow my taciturn host.

The child burbled incomprehensibly, which I took as an absolute agreement, and held onto my ear as I settled into the co-pilot’s chair. His little green body radiated warmth, providing solace that I didn’t realize I needed up until now.

I snuggled my face into his little cloth-covered belly. The child squealed in delight, slapping the side and top of my head excitedly. Snorting like a dewback, I grabbed the little guy and pulled him to my lap, tickling him until he wriggled out of my grasp. From the floor, he practically rolled to the Mando, patting him animatedly on the knee.

The Mandalorian was at the controls, tapping something into the Navigation. He promptly stopped what he was doing and reached down to pick up the child. Cooing in delight, the little one set his tiny hands on the bounty hunter’s visor for a long few seconds before pointing at me.

“Fine,” the Mandalorian sighed. He got up from the pilot’s chair, setting the child carefully in his place, and disappeared through the door. I could hear the faint clanging and rustling coming from the back. Quirking my eyebrow at the kid got me a slobbery grin, so I made a face. I was still making faces at the child when the hunter snuck back in, a lumpy package in his hand.

“Here.” He dumped the cloth-bound parcel unceremoniously into my lap.

My hands closed on it automatically. It was heavier than its size suggested, and even though it was lumpy, I couldn’t tell what was wrapped inside. I didn’t know what else to do, so I gaped at the bounty hunter. “What-?”

With a sigh that could’ve extinguished a thousand flames, the Mandalorian picked up the child and plopped heavily into the pilot’s seat while nestling the little one gently in his lap. “Open it.”

Fingers curling possessively around the bulging fabric, I dropped my eyes once more before speaking. “Why?” My heart skipped a beat, clutching the bundle to my chest.

“Just, it’s yours, okay? Open it,” he replied gruffly.

For whatever reason, my hands trembled as I undid the neatly tied knot holding the fabric all together. After a few fumbling attempts, the Mandalorian impatiently reached over and nimbly plucked at the knot. It fell apart easily, and he settled back into the pilot’s chair.

Unfolding the fabric, I was greeted with a delightful yet disorienting surprise.

“I thought...?” There, neatly bundled in the rough fabric, were all of my tools and parts I’d had in my jumpsuit. I couldn’t believe it. He’d _saved_ all of my stuff. Heart swelling in anticipation, I sorted through the jumble of wires and wrenches and screws, my eyes sharp for a familiar silvery glint. But the more I dug, the more my heart sunk. It wasn’t there. My pendant, the last remnant I had of my home, was _gone_.

“Where is it?” I gargled, my tongue suddenly much too big for my mouth. “Where’s my necklace?” Dread blossomed in my chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the hunter huffed in annoyance.

The little one cooed softly, catching my attention. He was slumped in the Mandalorian’s lap, snoring gently as he dozed, completely unaware of the tension spiking in the room.

I lowered my voice, frowning. “My necklace. It’s on an old silver chain. A Mythosaur charm.” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “It’s from my caretaker.”

The bounty hunter froze, one hand poised over the flight panel. The little one stirred in his lap, and he laid a light hand on the child’s back to shush him. “What do you mean.”

A little flame of ire licked it’s way up my spinal column. I remembered having it when we got back to the ship. I remembered the steady, solid _thunk_ of it swinging against my collar bone. He _must_ have had it. It couldn’t have just gotten up and walked away.

“I want it back. Now.”

Turning his visor to me, he tucked the dozing child into the crook of his injured arm. “I don’t have it,” he warned in a deep-throated growl. “Everything you had on you is either ash floating in space or there.” He nodded his helmet at the bundle in my lap.

“Then where is it?”

“It’s a big ship,” he replied, turning back to the controls. “Things get easily lost.”

In my haste to stand, I barely caught the bundle of tools before they hit the floor. I turned on my heel and stormed out of the cockpit and down the ladder to the cargo hold, clenching my hands so hard that the steel and wire and other debris bit painfully into my hands.

Why was he lying? Could he even lie? I couldn’t recall a time where he _wasn’t_ truthful, but that didn’t mean this time couldn’t be different. I tossed my beloved kit onto the bed and began sorting through it in a more organized and methodical manner. My favorite multitool, tiny spools of wire, the odd screw. My entire kit, from the biggest wrench to the tinies washer, was spread out before me. Everything I’d had in my pockets had been returned.

But where was my necklace?

The pendant was a relic of Mandalore, and any Mandalorian worth their salt would recognize it for what it was just by the shape of it. I didn’t know the history behind such a symbol, only the little piece of information my caretaker had told me when he’d fastened it behind my neck. _”Ibic cuun aliit. Ibic cuun aliik. Ad’ika, bic gaa’taylir gar o’r buruk.”_ I didn’t understand what he’d meant at the time, yet I knew that it was important that I got the necklace back. It was a sign of allegiance. And that could have value to an outsider.

As I turned these thoughts over and over in my head, the guilt heavy on my shoulders, I inspected my tools for damage. But no matter what item I picked up, I couldn’t find anything remotely wrong with any of it.

Which was super weird, considering I’d been captured, beaten up, caught in a gunfight and _then_ injured while on the dustiest and most polluted of planets in the sector. Surely my tools would show some sort of blemish or stain - probably my blood, in all seriousness - but they were clean and sharp and _repaired_.

_What the ever lovin’ frag?_

I didn’t want to add a whole other question to the pile that was already massive.

That meant I actually had to _confront_ the doshing bastard.

I clambered up the ladder, face hot with anger and humiliation. “Hey, Mando! _Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?_ ” I seethed when I entered the cockpit.

The bounty hunter bristled at the controls. A shiny domed pod floated motionless at his elbow, the opening facing the door. Inside slept the child, covered lovingly with a worn blanket, his soft breaths coming out in steady little puffs.

Swiftly rising from the pilot’s chair, he crossed the cockpit in one stride, reaching me before I could blink. With a rough shove to the chest, he pushed me into the engineering compartment and slid the door shut.

The room was full of wires and blinky lights and tubes of varying sizes snaking their way in orderly chaos to other parts of the ship. I took a short instant to gape and ogle in awe at all the shiny tech. For such an old ship, the hunter had outfitted the _Razor Crest_ with some wickedly stars-quality mech. Enviously drooling over the fairly-new looking alluvial damper valves and _definitely_ new motivator wiring, I almost forgot the reason I was back up here. Facing down a glowering Mandalorian.

Right.

“Why?” The spite on my tongue tasted off but pleasant, and it welcomed the rising ire with relish. “Why did you fix my kit? Frag, _save it_ for that matter, after all the doshing kriff you’ve put me through?” I hissed. The anger was becoming its own being again, a beast uncaged and wanting to inflict hurt.

Standing like a statue in front of the door, the only sign of life was the tapping of his gloved fingers on the cuisses. Not a reaction I’d expected from a bounty hunter. I hoped for equal anger, shouting, maybe a sucker punch. Anything that allowed me to physically unleash the rage and fear and blasted confusion roiling unpleasantly in my guts.

A small sigh escaped through his vocoder, and he began to fidget with the wrist fastenings on his gloves, pulling at the fingers one at a time. The familiarity of the movement, such a little, almost automatic thing for a warrior, made my heart squeeze painfully, briefly tempering my anger, and I couldn’t help but picture my caretaker.

All of the things that reminded me of _my_ warrior, the one who’d kept me from certain starvation and subsequent slavery, were all but nonexistent in this one. His brusque manner and indifferent attitude made me long for the kind words from the man I called _buir_. But he was gone, long ago abandoning me to the whims of the colony. More than anything, I hoped he was dead. At least that wouldn’t hurt as much.

Clearing his throat, the bounty hunter angled his visor to gaze at the converter panels blinking peacefully above my head. “Most bounties, when I bring them in. They - they plead innocence. Try to buy me off. _Run_. But you,” he paused, inclining his helmet to look me straight in the eyes. A shiver went up my spine. “You were the first quarry to ever accept your guilt. You didn’t fight back, you didn’t beg to be released. You just… took it so - so sincerely that I -,” The rumbling timbre of his voice, both rich and gravelly, cracked, making the vocoder buzz in protest. He took a shuddering breath, returning his gaze back to the point above me. “I knew the warrant was… off. No private entity pays that amount of bounty out of concern. I’ve done things like that before, awful things I can never take back but,” he stopped again, bare fingers tapping slowly and deliberately on the cuisses, gloves grasped tightly in the other hand. “I - I’m sorry. I about got you killed out of a sense of misplaced duty. You warned me, but I didn’t - _couldn’t_ trust you, not then.”

I gawped at him in astonishment. Of all the things I figured would come out of that masked mouth of his, never in lightyears would I have thought it would be an apology. Closing my jaw with a snap, I swallowed and thought back to all of my tools he’d saved and repaired and cleaned.

My gaze dropped down to my boots. I still didn’t understand _why_ he was being so… so… _not_ a bounty hunter, but now wasn’t the time to question it. Never look a gift Tauntaun in the mouth, or something like that. A rustle of fabric was the only indicator that the bounty hunter was waiting for me to say something. I inhaled deeply.

“Th-thank you,” I whispered. My breathing came easier. My head felt lighter. Frag, even the _atmosphere_ seemed brighter.

The Mandalorian didn’t reply. I mean, why would he? He’d saved my life - albeit being the one who endangered it in the first place, but that was neither here nor there at the moment - and patched me up. He fixed my kit without a word. He was bringing _me_ with him on whatever he was doing on Nevarro, a decision that I barely understood to begin with. If anything, he _deserved_ a little thanks for not killing me or letting me die when it would have been the easiest, and possibly the best, choice to make.

The Mandalorian still hadn’t made a sound by the time I was done with my internal debate. He was probably as surprised as I was at my capacity for gratitude. Maybe there was a way I could pay him back, and I decided to propose my services right then and there.

Steeling my nerves, I peeked up from under my lashes. The engineering room door was wide open, and I was completely alone among the blinking lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _”Ibic cuun aliit. Ibic cuun aliik. Ad’ika, bic gaa’taylir gar o’r buruk.”_ \- “This is our clan. This is our sigil. Little one, it will help you when you’re in danger.” ( **please forgive me for mashing a bunch of words together** )
> 
> _Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?_ \- Are you looking for a smack in the face, mate?


	3. This Isn't A Peace Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I get to use my mech skills, but also I have a fight with the bounty hunter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why it took so long to get this chapter out, but it's here now!!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The hours bled into one another as we flew ever closer to the Mandalorian’s destination, and I was becoming nightmarishly restless. After checking the patched wiring in the hold’s crawlspace and tinkering with a few spare parts in need of cleaning, I snooped around the hold some more. Most of the hold was empty, except for a couple of crates marked **FOOD** AND **MEDICAL** and half-dozen still-frozen bounties in the carbonite lockers. With nothing to do and a whole lotta time to do it in, I prowled about the lower decks in tight figure-eights, much like a wild creature stuck in an observation tank. The boredom was driving me bonkers.

Unable to take the utter lack of stimulation anymore, I grabbed a portable equipment chest in one hand, shouldered the diagnostics kit on the opposite, and made my way precariously up the ladder to the top deck.

It didn’t take long for the bounty hunter to find me, borrowed tools scattered around me and a diagnostics pad in hand, pottering around the engineering room with grease smudged across my forehead.

“I told you to stay put,” the Mandalorian gruffed, nearly tripping over me. I sat cross-legged on the floor, running a simple program to check on the aural sensors. I glanced up at him dubiously. His fingers brushed his blaster in a convulsive if threatening manner.

“ _You_ told me to stay out of your way. Engineering isn’t anywhere _near_ in your way, unless you deviate from your way on purpose.” I stopped, trying to sort out what exactly I meant by that. But I batted it away with a _hmph_. I didn’t have time to figure out my own nonsense. “Besides, can’t a person ogle another person’s band limiter cuffs without the third degree?” Still seated in front of the sensor panel, I craned my neck over my shoulder and up, agitated at the interruption.

The visor tilted upwards, contemplating. Gloved fingertips drummed on the pistol’s grip until he sighed deliberately and relaxed his arm. “ _Fine_ ,” he said gruffly. “Just - don’t break anything important.”

“I’m a blackthumb. If I break it, I’ll fix it _better_ ,” I said, forcefully bright and smiling. The little diagnostics computer dinged. I unplugged it and stood up, stretching the kinks from my spine. Sidestepping the Mandalorian, I slapped his pauldron good-naturedly as I slithered past him and into the bay.

“I do want to take a look at your pressors, though. This ol’ girl ‘bout rattled the teeth out of my head when she came out of hyperspace. May also need to tweak the conversion module to keep up with all that new tech you’ve got back there,” I said, easily falling back into Professional Mechanic Mode. Making my way to the cockpit, I crawled underneath the control deck, holding a pen light between my teeth as I lay on my back and surveyed the wiring system.

A tiny, warm body flopped onto my legs, and I was delighted to see that the child had come to join me. He scrambled up my thighs, across my belly and came to rest on my chest. Big ears wiggling happily, the kid propped his chin in his hands and stared at me intently. I removed the flashlight from my mouth and wedged it between my neck and shoulder, making it easier to talk to him.

I happened to be in the middle of explaining the intricacies of navcomp programming to my rapt pupil when the toe of the hunter’s boot nudged my hip.

“What?” I asked curtly as the long mental list of small improvements faded from my mind. By then my hands were caked in carbon dust, and the child made no move to slide off of me. Resigning to my fate, I signaled for the Mandalorian to continue with whatever it was he had to say; I wasn’t going to be moving out from under the control deck any time soon.

A flutter of cloth on steel, and the bounty hunter was in my space, crouching beside the pilot’s chair, his helmet parallel to the lip of the deck.

“What are you doing to my ship.” His tone was smooth yet menacing.

Rolling my eyes, I shooed the child off of me and clambered out from under the panel. The Mandalorian had retreated to the door while I’d wriggled out. Brushing dirty fingers across the chest of my jumpsuit, I sunk heavily into the co-pilot’s seat, scratching my forehead with my opened multitool. The little one trundled to me from out of the console’s shadows and tugged at my pantleg until I was obliged to pick him up. He held a small silver object tightly in his grubby little hands, and he ferreted it away underneath his tunic as soon as he settled onto my lap.

“Just a few minor adjustments and reroutes. Nothing too fancy or critical. Did you know this ship was stripped by Jawas?” I gestured animatedly with my custom multi-purpose tool. “I wouldn’t have noticed with how amazing the rebuild was, but I could tell by the wiring harness modifications. _Distinctly_ Jawa scavenged mods.” Grinning stupidly, I shook my head in amazement. “Whoever rebuilt the _Crest_ sure knew what they were doing!”

“Yes,” the bounty hunter replied, a little more brusquely than I thought the conversation warranted. He leaned against the cockpit’s door frame, arms crossed and exuding false indifference. He was strangely emotive for how much beskar covered his body.

“ _No doshing way?_ ” I exclaimed. The prospect of Jawas intrigued me to no end; they were a scavenging people, mainly dealing in mech and droids. Their methods of acquiring said mech and droids could be considered loosely in the vicinity of ethical, if you squinted really hard, but they always did have the best stuff.

The Mandalorian stared out into the inky dark of space, starlight blurring over the silvery dome of his helmet. He cleared his throat, started to say something and then stopped. I waited patiently, the prickly curiosity holding my jittery nerves in place. The kid whined and made grabby hands at my multitool, so I folded it back into itself and gave it to him. It looked absurdly gigantic in his tiny fingers, but he gnawed on it with gusto.

A sigh crackled over the bounty hunter’s vocoder. “An Ugna- my friend. His name was Kuiil. He negotiated to get all the parts back from the Jawas, and then he-he helped me repair the _Razor Crest_.” The tension he had been holding suddenly dissipated, and his shoulders sagged in something akin to relief. His breastplate rose and fell in a juttering, painful beat, and the strangled sigh of modulated air buzzing from his helmet told me everything I needed to know. Whoever Kuiil had happened to be, I knew that he must have been a very good friend to the Mandalorian, and his loss was still felt across hyperspace.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

The bounty hunter huffed. “ _Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la_.”

“ _Not gone, merely marching far away_ ,” I murmured in turn.

The Mandalorian stilled. For a beat, neither of us moved. The silence widened the already substantial gap between us, sweeping away what little bit of common ground we had found purchase on. Having that tiny foothold crumble beneath me in a matter of seconds set me on edge. I didn’t like him any more than he liked me; our mutual dislike for one another had turned into something more, something almost companion-like. But since I had to go and open my big dumb mouth, we were back to Square One.

The kid let out a loud, wet _snerkt!_ , pulling us both out of our respective thoughts.

Arms uncrossing and leather gloves tightening into fists at his sides, the bounty hunter took the two steps from the doorway to the co-pilot’s chair. Without a sound, he took the slumbering child from my arms and stomped off to his quarters.

“I -” A tiny kernel of guilt blared in warning. “Wait, I didn’t mean to- ah, blast it,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. I hadn’t meant any disrespect to his friend, or his Creed. I only knew enough Mando’a to get me into trouble, and I hoped I hadn’t overstepped any boundaries by saying the tribute in Basic. Fiddling with my multitool for a long moment, I tried to come up with some sort of apology that would convey my cultural misstep.

Wracking my brain for Mando’a phrases to express my regrets at my choice of words, I didn’t hear him return to the cockpit.

Huffing once more, the bounty hunter startled me from my guilt trip. I averted my eyes, swallowed my pride and braced myself to deliver an apology. “Look, bud. I’m not good with-”

“Where did you get this?” he asked, cutting me off from my apology.

“What are you -”

“ _Where did you get this necklace??_ ” he repeated, hissing through his teeth.

Silver flashed into my field of vision. I blinked a few times, my eyes refusing to believe what the bounty hunter dangled in front of my face. “Wha-” My voice cracked dangerously. I couldn’t believe it. It was _my pendant._ My eyes followed the Mythosaur skull as it swung back and forth, mouth gaping in astonishment. A small spark of Hope rekindled somewhere deep down inside my chest, clearing a slim but bright path through the anger and the guilt that had been dogging me for the past several days.

“My - my..” I said weakly, tears pricking at my eyes. “Where did -”

The hunter lunged suddenly, slamming both fists down on the armrests on either side of me. I yelped in surprise, shrinking back in the co-pilot’s chair. Pinned in, I could do nothing more than stare at him, confused.

“This shouldn’t _exist_. It shouldn’t be _yours_.”

The small, flickering flame of Hope guttered out, and once more I was cold and empty and full of rage.

“What gives _you_ the right?” I spat. I leaned as far forward as the hunter’s presence would allow, my nose almost pressed against the beskar helmet. “You don’t know me. You don’t know where I came from, or what I’ve done to get here. All I am to you is a bounty that went wrong. _It’s not up to you to decide what I can or can’t have._ ” Chest heaving and fists clenched together in my lap, I stared down the Mandalorian. I was too confused to be scared of what he could do to me, too _pissed off_ to care about his reasons.

That pendant was _mine_. And I wanted it back.

The Mandalorian’s blank, glassy facade didn’t move. No words, no sounds escaped his modulator. Hot waves of anger rolled off of him, anger that I didn’t understand, didn’t _want to_ understand. The co-pilot’s seat trembled underneath me, but I wasn’t sure if the movement was his or my own.

“Give it back,” I growled, finally breaking the silence. “It’s mine.”

“No.” The rumbling baritone was tense, straining against his control. His whole body held unspeakable amounts of emotion, and he was unwilling, or unable, to let it go.

“ _Bastard._ ” I swung up from my hips, clipping the lip of his helmet smartly with my clasped fists.

He stumbled back, dropping the necklace as both hands came up to straighten his helmet. Seeing an opening, I rushed the bounty hunter, driving my left shoulder into his side and pushing him into the opposite wall. With a roar, he ducked out of my grasp, using his momentum to kick out at my knees. I dodged sideways, his boot only grazing my shins. Now off-balanced, I staggered back and tripped over my own feet. I took a nosedive, landing heavily on the pilot’s seat. The air was knocked from my lungs, and for a moment too long I was dazed. At that opportunity, the Mandalorian grabbed the back of my collar and hauled me out of the chair.

“Hrrkt!” I choked, scrabbling to loosen the stranglehold my jumpsuit currently had on my neck.

“Last time. Where. Did. You. Get. This.” With each word, the hunter shook me like a ragdoll. The calm he exuded was frightening in comparison to the violence he was promising.

“Uunrkt,” I replied.

The Mandalorian released the back of my jumpsuit, and I crumpled, catching myself on the pilot’s seat. Pressing my forehead into the roughly-woven seat cushion, I panted laboriously. Tears were streaming down my face. I sniffled loudly and wiped my nose on my sleeve before I spoke.

“That is _mine_. It was given to me by my caretaker.” The anger I had been feeling melted into sadness. I was tired of fighting the emotion, so I embraced it, allowing myself to finally _feel_. “It’s the only thing I have left.” I broke off with a sob, burying my face in my hands.

“What was his name.”

I went rigid. Names held power, even I knew that growing up where I did. But he was dead, so surely the issue was moot? At least, I hoped he was dead. The alternatives to why he never returned hurt my heart too much to bear.

“You wouldn’t’ve known him,” I said thickly.

“Try me,” the hunter said gruffly.

I couldn’t get around it now. Even if he wasn’t dead, sharing his name with one of his brethren probably wasn’t the worst thing I could do.

But, then again, if he wasn’t dead, that meant I didn’t owe him anything for leaving me behind.

“Reyn. His name was Drys Reyn.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _chakaar_ \- corpse robber, thief, petty criminal - general term of abuse  
>  _shabuir_ \- extreme insult - *jerk*, but much stronger


End file.
